


French pressed coffee and who I need to be

by Myindepthmind



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: F/M, Graphic Description, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:48:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,636
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myindepthmind/pseuds/Myindepthmind
Summary: WARNING: Talks of mental health and thoughts of suicide. Depression and anxiety are mentioned.Please do not read if this may trigger you.Bellamy didn’t want to end up like the lion with the thorn in his paw. The cowardly lion. He didn’t want to admit to himself that even the strongest of beings could be weakened.Bellamy Blake? Weak? Yeah right.Or: Bellamy Blake makes a huge breakthrough in therapy.I wanted to write this in honour of breakthroughs I've recently made in the last two months of therapy, I hope you enjoy!
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 60





	French pressed coffee and who I need to be

The art of learning to love yourself is a step by step process. It does not come overnight, it is not always welcoming. It is far less than pleasant, and the learning curve is like a station stop that most exit the train at.

We as humans often give up fighting something we feel as though we may lose. That classic fight or flight reflex that sends us running for the hills. That often makes us feel less if we don’t know the tools to use to heal ourselves. The tools to use to truly make it out unscathed, or maybe just a little scathed.

For Clarke it was a fight she never wanted to end, and for Bellamy, he felt as though he had enough. The lioness that Clarke is was vibrant, cunning, not the storybook cowardly lion, but the type that you could fear. 

Bellamy didn’t want to end up like the lion with the thorn in his paw. The cowardly lion. He didn’t want to admit to himself that even the strongest of beings could be weakened.

_ Bellamy Blake? Weak? Yeah right. _

It was a gradual fall for him, and only did he realize he had indeed fallen and hit rock bottom while he sits in this chair across from his therapist. 

_ “Bellamy…”  _ The woman by the name of Linda calls him, his therapist who’s seen him at his lowest of lows.

His bloodshot eyes follow from the floor all the way up her legs until he meets hers. 

Bellamy forgot the rest of the story about the lion. About how the cowardly lion finally stands up, he chooses to be brave after he’s given the tools he needs to flourish.

“I know when we have these sessions you don’t typically say much, but I was wondering if maybe this time you had something to say.” Linda asks, curiosity has her head cocked to the side.

“How do I go up from here?” He mumbles into his hands that are clenched together like one big fist. He leans on them for support. 

“Where do I even begin?” he adds.

* * *

TWO MONTHS AGO

The seasons were changing, and it was no longer warm and welcoming when he stepped outside. It was cold, dark, and gloomy. He thought it could have been the changing of the seasons, or maybe just his workplace driving him to drink - literally. 

He would come home to Clarke after a night out with his friends, and instead of the usual chipper and rather cheerful Bellamy, he had grown melancholic in his absence. He would be gone for the entire day and show up to his home almost empty. The home was never empty, as Clarke would be there to kiss him hello; but Bellamy was empty. A vessel of flesh making its way through streets. The home would smell like  _ theirs _ . Mullberries and freshly pressed coffee. It would welcome him as it always did, illuminating his senses like the fireworks on the 4th of July. 

Bellamy felt empty, even when loving Clarke filled his glass to the point of overflowing. He didn’t think he was depressed, even when his highschool counselor told him six years prior that he could be. His mother never took mental health seriously, so him and Octavia never sought to dive into it. 

It was truly only until he sat in front of his bathroom sink, questioning his existence, did he truly think something was genuinely wrong. 

A soft knock on the door wakes him up from the thoughts that drown him.

_ “Bellamy…” _ Clarke says softly  _ “you’re starting to scare me, can I come in please?” _

“Yes,” he says.

Clarke turns the knob slowly “Bellamy, what is it? What’s going on?” her concerned voice in full force now. She’s always taken on the motherly role in their group, countless hours staying up late talking anyone through anything. To Bellamy, Clarke was a goddess. Her golden blonde hair cascading down her back; she was better than the women depicted in the Greek mythology books he spent countless hours nose deep into - she was real, and unlike anything he had ever experienced. He loved her fiercely, and for her to see him like this, was enough for him to close up and hide away from her, and he would never, not from her. 

“I don’t like my job,” he muttered into his hands that were now fully pressed against his face.

Clarke let out a light chuckle “I know” she replied.

“It’s worse” he says “I hate everything.”

She's caught off guard by the change in his tone.

“I shouldn’t be sitting by the sink, hiding away in the bathroom, contemplating why I’m even alive. My job makes me feel like I’m just a part of the machine. Day in and day out, aimless, why the fuck am I doing this? More importantly,  _ when did I want this for me?”  _

“You wanted to be a history teacher” Clarke says softly as she walks toward him, closing the space between the two of them.

_ “History…” _ he says muffled into his hands. Clarke reaches him and removes them from his face. His eyes bloodshot to hell, sadly looking into the ocean blue pools of concern across from him. 

_ “Princess… _ ” he says as his hand touches the side of her face, tracing it to push the hair behind her ear. That nickname he’s called her from the beginning. What was once considered an insult to her is now a precious term of endearment. 

“I’m so afraid,” she says kissing his palm. “You’ve pulled away from me, and I can’t help you. Bellamy you need to speak to someone.”

* * *

PRESENT DAY

“You begin with you” Linda says to him “What makes Bellamy Blake happy? And I mean _ truly happy? _ ”

He lets out a laugh and his head tilts back. His eyes wander the ceiling as he contemplates his life once again.

“Ancient history” he blurts out “Clarke Griffin. The way she smiles, her laugh, the fact that she gets paint in her hair more times than I can count on my hands.” again like the beat of a drum he finds more and more to say. “Coffee, not that store bought crap that comes in a can but the bags Clarke buys that she makes in the French press” He nods to himself “oh man a good sunset, a summer breeze too. A fresh crisp apple right off the trees in my cousins backyard..” he ends softly.

“That’s good” Linda smiles “keep going.” 

“Music blaring so loud in my car as I speed a scary amount on the freeway” he laughs. “My sister snorts when she laughs, I like that stupid snort - I love my sister Octavia.” 

“Wonderful” Linda listens “now tell me things you like about yourself?” 

His head shoots up “about  _ me? _ ” 

“Yes Bellamy, tell me what you like about yourself.” 

His brows furrow “nothing” he shoots out aggressively. He closes off almost immediately.

“This is what I was talking about in our last session. You refuse to open that part of you up.” Linda says to him as she writes something down on the notepad in her lap.

“Linda, what exactly am I supposed to say here. I work as a police officer because fresh outta highschool I didn’t know what the hell I wanted, and because my best friend Miller was joining the police academy I thought I could do that too. It made sense at the time. Even if my heart called to books, I would ignore it, and only in whatever personal time I had left after all was said in done, did I ever hear it. I gave up my passions to take care of my sister. Being a police officer made sense. I was making a ton of money. I fell in love with Clarke, _ I’m still in love with Clarke. _ I’m unhappy in life. I don’t know why other than hating the thing I do for a living.”

“You’re unhappy with yourself” Linda responds, she looks directly at him this time.

Her words sink in this time. Right deep to the bone. He feels his body start to shake. Taking his memories back to the second time Clarke found Bellamy in the bathroom. Only this time he was shaking and sobbing, leaning against the bathtub. Unaware of the glass mirror he shattered with his fists. Blood covering every inch of the canvas that is his hands. It’s in his hair, it’s on his face, it’s everywhere.

The look of horror when Clarke rushed in. She cradled him softly as he sobbed into her chest. She wore white that night, and the blood from his hands made prints on her shirt.

Bellamy didn’t want to die - he wanted to feel  _ something, anything. _

Clarke took him to the emergency room that night. They waited hours upon hours to see someone. They kept him in a room overnight for surveillance. He spoke to a psychiatrist in the morning. His blackout that night in that bathroom stayed with him, and weeks later, here he is trying to piece himself together again.

_ Over and over again. _

He can hear Clarke’s voice repeating over and over again “ _ everything’s going to be okay.” _

“I’m unhappy with myself” he repeats her words, and hearing it from his own mouth spoke volumes alone.

“Good progress” she says, “why?”

He runs his hands through his hair and sighs. “I have never made any choices for me” he admits “Octavia was still so young, and I had to make the choice that was best for us financially. The choice I made was for her and for her future, it was never for me.” 

“Now that you’re no longer her caregiver, isn’t it time you live for yourself?” Linda says with more caution than he’s used to hearing. Whenever anyone talks about Octavia around him, he finds no matter the person, except for maybe Clarke, they will walk on eggshells to avoid offending him. He has always and will always be protective of his baby sister.

“Clarke suggested that” he replies “She’s a freelance artist with all this extra time on her hands in between pieces. She found my old history textbooks filled with sticky notes and jargon. I found her on the floor of our apartment one night with books scattered throughout our living room. A coffee cup in her hand and her eyes practically glued to this one piece I had written ages ago about the fall of Troy and the Trojan War.” 

“A career switch may do you wonders Bellamy, it may even make you happy” Linda nods along encouragingly “but that will not bring you permanent happiness the way accepting yourself and loving who you are will.” 

His eyes follow Linda as she adjusts in her seat, he waits for her to continue, and she says nothing.

He takes this opportunity to ask dryly “sounds simple enough, and how do you suppose I do that?”

“I ask you again, what do you like about yourself?” repeating the question slowly this time. She makes a point to make direct eye contact with him. 

His mouth opens to retort, and he surrenders now effortlessly. His mouth turns into a pout “my freckles.”

Linda laughs.

“Clarke always says they’re like constellations.” He smiles to himself as he thinks about the woman he loves.

“I can read really fast.” They begin flying out one by one as he lists his abilities and attributes that make him solely and uniquely him. 

“See” Linda says “This was the Bellamy you said existed somewhere inside you. This tough exterior that seems to only be pierced by Clarke is suddenly softening at the idea of loving yourself. Mental health is a journey, not a destination Bellamy.”

He nods.

“You have the tools to heal yourself, and grow from this. Depression isn’t the period at the end of the sentence that is your life.” she continues “there is so much to live for, so much to grow from, countless and endless possibilities. I just need you to pick up the tools and try. Try and keep trying, try until you're exhausted with yourself, but Bellamy, don’t ever stop trying.” 

This was the end of their session for the night.

Bellamy left feeling refreshed and determined. He loved how therapy had transitioned for him. Sessions used to make him feel worse as they peeled back the layers of complexity in his life. Some are things he made complicated himself alone, but some were childhood traumas that he never knew had a role. 

“Not a destination, a journey” he repeats to himself on his walk home.

Mental health used to be such a foreign topic to him, and now that it’s a book he’s opened he’s even able to better understand who his mother used to be. 

He opens the door to their home and is greeted with loud music. Classic rock blares from the kitchen and he can see Clarke dancing with a bowl of a mysterious chocolate liquid inside, she's licking the spoon attempting to sing between mouthfuls.

He laughs genuinely while tossing off his shoes “Clarke what are you doing?” 

“What?” she yells back, clearly unable to hear anything period.

He turns the music down “Hello chocolate queen. What exactly are you doing?” he crosses his arms smirking at her. 

“I was baking you a cake, chocolate coffee cake, your favourite.” She licks the spoon again. 

“Ah but most of the mix seems to have landed in that mouth of yours.” He laughs again “Let me try some of  _ my _ cake.” He grabs the spoon from her. 

“I can make more mix” she says mockingly. 

“This isn’t good for us to eat” he takes another spoonful. 

“But it’s delicious,” she smiles. 

They make eye contact and erupt with laughter. He puts down the bowl and spoon, grabbing Clarke by the waist and pressing a desperate kiss to her lips. 

“I missed you” he says as he wraps his arms around her. 

“I missed you too.” She says muffled into his shoulder.

A long pause hangs between them before she asks “How did today go?” 

“Well” he replied immediately “Linda has been trying to give me tools to use to better combat how I feel about myself.”

“That’s wonderful Bellamy” her eyes glow when she looks at him.

Clarke has always been there for him. In the years they’ve known one another, she has always been a pillar in his life. One he could lean on, and he worried for so long that he was leaning on her too much. Clarke always reminded him that no matter what he could always lean. Reminding him that everyone needs someone, even if they’re as strong as he has always been. 

He gets caught looking into her eyes and mumbles as their foreheads are pressed together “I think I’m going to be okay. For the first time in what feels like an eternity, I feel like I’m going to be okay.” 

He lets out a broken almost sad laugh.

“I made a breakthrough today.”

“I can see that,” she smiles “I am so happy for you Bellamy.” 

He picks her up in one soft motion and her legs wrap around his waist. He lays her on the floor in front of the fireplace and kisses her softly. 

“You look like starlight” he says “and you’re the biggest light in my life.”

Clarke looks around jokingly “don’t say that too loud Octavia could hear.” 

He laughs as their foreheads are pressing together again.

“I told you” she said softly “everythings going to be okay. One day at a time, please don’t rush. There is no hurry, and we have nothing but time.”

“Yeah…” he says softly as he repeats her words “nothing but time.” 

  
  
  



End file.
